"The Thing moved," Anne told Marilla and Matthew as they were just sitting down to dinner. They both looked up at her in surprise.
"Moved?" Marilla asked. "You felt it kick?" This information was such news that she did not think to scold Anne for referring to it as The Thing.
Anne nodded miserably. "I was just sitting there with Gilbert and suddenly there It was. Kicking away like it was playing ball. I poked at it and it stopped. Maybe I just have to keep poking at it to make it be still."
"Anne," Marilla scolded. "Don't do that. What if you hurt it?"
"Is poking at it going to hurt it?" Anne asked.
Marilla hesitated. "Well, I don't know. But don't poke at it anyway! Why would you do such a thing? Kicking is perfectly normal, all babies do that."
"I know," Anne said miserably. "But I don't like it."
Matthew said gently, "It won't be forever."
Anne smiled kindly at him. She knew he just wanted her to feel better. She reached for the peas and dumped an enormous scoop onto her plate. "I've decided to eat more. To make less room in there for moving."
Matthew laughed at this.
"Well, I'm glad if you'll eat more, anyway," Marilla commented, handing Anne the butter. You haven't been eating enough since you've been home. Rachel Lynde told me when you're expecting you're supposed to eat twice as much, because you're eating for two."
"Then I want two pieces of cake, instead of one," Anne announced.
--
Rachel Lynde told Anne that it was good the baby was kicking. "It's supposed to, and I'd be worried if it didn't! You're really feeling it quite a bit late, you know. Of course, that's sometimes how it is with a first pregnancy," she said with an air of wisdom. "Subsequent pregnancies you feel it sooner- likely just because you know what you're looking for, by then. It comes much sooner than a big kick- it starts out as tiny little flutters-"
"Flutters?" Anne repeated, horrified. "I felt little flutters ages ago! I thought it was indigestion! I didn't know that was a baby. ...I didn't know until it kicked me!"
"There, you see, everything is as it should be. The little mite is perfectly fine."
"Isn't there a way to make it stop?" Anne begged. "I tried poking at it, but it just kept on!"
"Poking it will make it move more, not less," Rachel said with a shake of her head.
"Then what can I do?" Anne wanted to know.
"You can be glad it's healthy," she said firmly.
Anne pouted.
--
While Anne lay in bed, the baby moved.
Stop, she silently told it.
Then, thinking that maybe it could not hear her inside her head, she whispered aloud into the dark, "Stop."
But it did not stop, She poked at it, but that didn't stop it. She pushed her pillow over it, but it kept kicking her.
"You're being mean to me. Go to sleep and stop bothering me."
She felt like crying. She just wanted to be alone in her own bed in her room, but now with the baby making itself known, she could not be alone anywhere she went.
"I don't want you here," she said out loud to it. "Go away!"
Then suddenly it seemed to drop. Her belly was still.
Even though she'd just told it to stop, she now felt alarmed by the way it had stopped so suddenly. She began to feel afraid.
I told it I didn't want it and it just seemed to go limp. Now what?
She sat up in bed, not knowing what to do. Should she get Marilla? But if she did, what could Marilla do? There was nothing to do, it seemed, but wait.
Please, please, please, she chanted silently. Please be all right, because I don't know what to do if you're not.
She sat in the dark, her arms wrapped around herself, worrying. What would happen to her if it wasn't all right? Should she go to the doctor? What would he do? What would he have to do to her? She wondered if the baby died, if it meant she would die too?
After a few long, agonizing minutes, Anne felt a slight push in her lower half and nearly cried with relief.
She lay back down. You're all right, then. Stop kicking me, and when you come out I'll give you a ball to play with. You can kick that. Go to sleep now.
But the baby was not interested in sleep.
Gilbert's words came back to her. She thought to herself, If Gilbert was right- that it's just trying to say hello- then it just wants my attention. So maybe if I pay attention to it, it'll quit trying to be noticed so much.
She put her hand on the slight bulge and rubbed it softly. There, feel that? I'm not poking at you, am I? I'm saying hello to you. Is that want you want? Now that I've been nice to you, calm down.
It seemed to work. The baby stopped.
--
Anne spent the next morning sitting in the barn with Jerry. She kept him talking on and on, peppering him with questions about his family. As she talked to Jerry, the baby kept right on moving inside her. Anne tried to ignore it. But after finally being still for about twenty minutes, it gave her a firm kick again, and she began to feel frustrated.
"What's the matter?" Jerry asked, cutting himself off mid-sentence when he saw Anne's annoyed expression.
She shook her head, near tears. "What is it?" he asked again.
Anne was holding her stomach.
"Should I get Mr. Cuthbert? He's out in the field, I can-"
"No!" Anne yelled at him.
Jerry came over to her. He dropped his rake. "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not," Anne insisted as she wiped her eyes on her pinafore.
"This barn's a dirty place for that frilly thing," he said with a smile.
"I have to wear it," Anne told him. "My plain one doesn't hide-" she broke off, shaking her head.
Jerry sat down next to her. "You will not tell Mr. Cuthbert I stopped working?"
Anne shook her head, rubbing her eyes.
Jerry dropped down beside her in the hay. He said something in French- almost without realizing it- and Anne said, "What?"
Jerry shook his head. "Sorry. I said when my aunt had a baby, she cried for months."
"Why?" Anne asked, her face turning red because he clearly knew.
"She did not want one. She had five already and did not want a sixth." He laughed.
"It isn't funny," Anne said. "When somebody doesn't want one and one's coming anyway! There's nothing less funny than that, Jerry!"
She took a shaky breath. "I hate this. That's why I stopped going to school, if you were wondering."
Jerry gave sort of a shrug. "I knew," he said, "But, it is not obvious."
He still did not ask her any questions, and Anne loved him for that.
"Jerry," Anne asked suddenly. "Did you know that my bosom friend Diana can speak French like you?"
"Your...what friend?"
"Never mind. I think you should meet Diana. I bet you'd like her a lot. You two could speak French together, and maybe you could teach me to speak it, too."
--
In the afternoon, Gilbert came. But after they ate a snack, the baby became active again. It would not be calmed by her rubbing her belly gently as she had the day before, she got up and went over to the sofa.
"What is it?" Gilbert asked, concerned. "Do you feel sick?"
"No," she said, whispering as she lay down on her side. "I'm pretending I'm in bed. So it'll think it's time to go to sleep."
Anne shut her eyes and started breathing slow and deep, the way she would if she were sleeping.
After a few minutes of watching her "sleep", he came over to her.
"Anne, do you want me to lea-"
"Shhh," she whispered. "If we talk, it'll know I'm not asleep."
Gilbert smiled.
She reached out for his hand.
He took it, sitting down beside her, and didn't say anything.
Finally Anne opened her eyes. "I think it worked," she mouthed. She sat up very, very slowly, and slid off the couch. "Don't talk. Whisper."
Gilbert had a lot of doubt that what Anne was doing was having any impact on the baby, but he was willing to play along with her.
"I'll get our books and bring them in here," he said softly, backing away.
When he came back, Anne was in tears.
"Anne- what is it?"
She said, her hands over her belly, "It didn't work."
He sat down by her side on the sofa, again holding her hand. "Anne, darling, don't cry..."
She wiped her eyes. "I want it to be still! And it won't."
He put his arm around her. "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better."
She learned in to him, and after a moment she rested against his chest. Gilbert liked this but also felt a little worried that the Cuthberts would walk in. But his first concern was Anne, so he brought his arms around her and held her close to him.
After a couple minutes, Gilbert felt the baby kick. It was slight, but he felt the movement against him. In surprise, he pulled back.
"What?" Anne asked miserably.
"I felt it- I think," Gilbert said, reacting to it, his eyes wide.
"Oh no," Anne moaned, embarrassed.
"No, it was..."
"What? Nightmarish? Disgusting? Horrifying?"
"No!" Gilbert knew Anne wasn't happy, but he couldn't hide his astonishment. "It was kind of amazing. It just...moved. And I felt it. It's..." He shook his head, words failing him. "Can I...can I feel it again?"
Anne hesitated before she nodded, accepting it.
Gilbert felt uncomfortable to just reach out and handle her stomach, and realizing this, Anne took his hand and placed it there herself. Nothing was happening, so she moved it around, waiting to see if the baby reacted to Gilbert at all.
They sat for a few minutes, their hands on her belly, until finally it gave another kick. Gilbert's eyes widened. Anne felt she could sink into the floor, but Gilbert was elated.
"Well, you don't have to be so happy about it," Anne told him.
GIlbert bit his lip. "I'm sorry. It's just..." He shook his head, at a loss for words.
"If you like it so much, then you should be the one to carry it and feel it bothering you all day!"
Gilbert wasn't really listening. He moved his hand around, wondering where it might kick next.
He didn't feel it again, and finally- reluctantly- let go.
Anne was unhappy, but Gilbert was still smiling. Seeing Anne's face, he tried to stop smiling, but even when he forced himself not to smile, Anne could see the smile struggling to come out. "All right, go ahead and be happy if you want to," she said with a sigh. "I suppose someone ought to. You can be happy for the both of us."
Gilbert held her again. "I wish you felt better. I'm sorry. I'll try not to be too..."
"Try not to be too what? Happy?" Anne said, almost laughing.
Gilbert smiled, sheepish. "It's just...to think that there's this person, alive and kicking, and you're...Anne, you are creating...life. It's...it's kind of a miracle."
"I wish it felt like a miracle to me," Anne said, sounding deflated. "I told it I'd get it a ball to kick when it comes out, if it'll try not to kick me so much now."
"Did you hear that?" Gilbert asked, looking down. "She'll get you a ball. So hold off till you come out, all right?"
Anne smiled, but was unhappy when she felt the baby move in response to Gilbert's voice.
Gilbert leaned in closer to her belly. "What's that?"
Anne laughed at him.
"Speak up a little," he got closer. "Oh, I see. Did you tell her that? No, don't worry, I will. All right."
He said to Anne, "The baby wants you to know that it's kicking because it just can't wait to come out and play. It wants to know if I can play with it, with that ball you promised."
Anne rolled her eyes at him. "You're both ganging up against me. No, you can't play with it, because it will be far, far away from me when it's old enough to play."
"Oh," Gilbert said sadly. "Are you back to it leaving?"
"...I don't know. I can't decide."
"Well, could I give it a ball to take away with it when it goes?"
"Yes," Anne said. "If I send it away, I'll send it away with a little trunk. It'll have clothes, and I'm sure Marilla will insist I send it off with a Bible. And a ball from you. It'll be quite a lucky orphan, really, to start out with so many belongings."
"Yes, that's true," Gilbert said quietly.
"Gilbert," Anne said, looking at him. "You don't think I ought to send it away, do you?"
Gilbert hesitated. "I want you to have what you need. And I understand if you need it to go away."
"But?"
"But nothing."
"No, there's a but," Anne insisted.
Gilbert sighed. "I don't feel like I should have an opinion here, really."
"You do have an opinion, though. So tell me."
Finally he said, "I like the baby."
"How can you like it? What about where it came from-"
"Because it came from you. And that's all I need to know to like it."
Anne did not know how to respond to that.
"Sometimes I worry that you're going to regret giving it to someone."
"Why on earth would I regret sending it away?"
"Well...what if, when you see it, you feel something for it? When you first get to look at it, I mean."
"Maybe I won't look at it, then," Anne said, feeling grumpy at Gilbert. "When the doctor gets it out, he can take it away into another room and I won't see it at all."
He didn't say anything.
"Gilbert," she explained. "It doesn't fit."
"What doesn't?"
"It. The baby. It doesn't fit into the picture. I'm going to school, and then I'm going to go to Queens, and I'll be a teacher, and maybe I'll go even further- to a university- and....oh, Gilbert, I probably can't do anything I wanted to do, because I've had to be pregnant! But not everything has to change- you and I can still have a family someday- eventually we'll get married and have our children and the life we're supposed to have. This other baby wasn't supposed to happen. It was all wrong. It doesn't belong."
He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he just nodded. It took great effort to nod to that.
"We'd be happier that way," Anne insisted.
"That's all I want, for you to be happy," he said softly.
"We'd both be happier that way," she said, pleading.
"All right," he said.
"You don't believe me," she said, "But we will. You wouldn't be happy, either, Gilbert, if I kept that wretched baby. Everything would be ruined. We wouldn't have the same life we'll have without it."
He was quiet.
"Say something," she demanded.
"My happiness isn't dependent on the baby going away. But yours is, and that's all that matters. I want you to be happy, Anne."
This answer was not satisfactory to her.
Then he put his arms around her and held her close again, because he didn't know what to say, and he loved her.
Years later, Anne would remember the baby's kicking as simply being something to get used to, rather than being something distressing.
...And had Gilbert been unwise enough to remind her of her words, Anne would have been quite offended, insisting she never would have said such a thing.